Just a handful of wild coreopsis
That grew by a dusty highway,
Only this—but its presence has brightened
And sweetened the long summer day.

Would you know where to find the quaint beauties?
Or when? They are fairest at morn;
And you’ll find them down close by the roadside,
Or fringing the great fields of corn.

As you single them out from the grasses.
And note their rich color and grace
You may wonder—as I used to wonder—
Why fill they so lowly a place.

O quaintest and fairest of blossoms,
Their tiny life’s secret I’ve guessed;
They were placed at our feet by our Father,
And their Maker, our Father, knows best.

He has chosen strange ways to remind us
Earthly joys and a hea­ven­ly crown
Will be sweeter by far to the brave hearts
Who will not only look up, but stoop down.

Just a handful of wild coreopsis
That grew by a dusty highway,
Only this—but life’s lessons seem plainer.
And—Hea­ven seems nearer today.

Floy Schoon­mak­er Armstrong
The Na­tion­al Ma­ga­zine
(Boston, Mas­sa­chu­setts: Chap­ple Pub­lish­ing,
April-September 1912), p. 462